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Tim and Z warmly invite you to this year’s blog party on Saturday 21st July. Thanks for all the replies so far, we’re looking forward to seeing you.

Z winds down

Jamie has been forking over the kitchen garden, getting it ready for the new season. The ground is not as moist as you’d expect in February, if we don’t get a lot of rain soon then it’ll be a difficult growing season. I’ll start things off early, with our light soil it’ll be the only hope.

This evening, the Sage was having a meeting with someone in the drawing room, so I skulked in here, putting together notes for a letter I’m going to have to write later in the week, when I heard a squawking chicken. Looking out of the window, I saw a young black labrador chasing her – rushed out shouting “DOG, DOG – RUSSELL, DOG CHASING CHICKEN!!(!)*” By this time, the dog had caught her, but rightly realised that I was a greater threat than the chicken a temptation, dropped her and legged it across the field. The Sage came out, I briefly explained and he chased the dog while I went to look for the chicken.

The Sage has had a word with the dog’s owner. I think it’ll be kept on the lead when being walked on the road in future. I couldn’t find which chicken had been caught, they were all clustered together and promptly decided to go to roost, some in trees and some in the henhouse. None was left, let’s hope the poor girl was unscathed. It can’t have been more than five seconds and he didn’t shake her and labs have soft mouths, he wasn’t a vicious dog. Very upsetting though.

Anyway, the Sage took some time to return so I went and chatted to the fellow he’d been talking to, and when he left I went to have a long and relaxing bath. Face mask, intensive hair conditioner, I lay back and did nothing at all for quarter of an hour or so and then rinsed them off, got out and dried myself and slathered myself with body creams. The Sage had better not try to hug me, I’ll slip right out of his arms like a cork and hit the ceiling, I’m that slippery.

Tomorrow, I must buy more wine. I’ve just opened the last bottle, a very nice Côtes du Rhône – I’m reminded again that the nicer the wine, the less I drink. All I’ve got left, other than the good stuff, is a couple of glasses of sparkling something-or-other (not even champagne) in the fridge. One was opened last night, I needed a pick-me-up. Feeling a bit jaded? Mm, yes. I’m doing something about it though, I take great care of myself and have just lit a candle and am listening to the divine Elisabeth. Actually, I’d intended to sit with the Sage, but he’s on the phone and I don’t intend to be wound up by listening to it.

Oh, by the way, Blogger is playing silly buggers, not only with the almost unreadable word verification but by changing the pop-up comment box, which now doesn’t give an option to subscribe to comments. Since they’re the best bit, I’ve changed to embedded comments and the box is at the bottom of the post instead of in a separate box. And the automatic spam detection is excellent, none of the spam that reaches my email notification ever gets published. Honestly, if you just turn off wv you won’t find a problem.

*if anyone ever wonders about this, JonnyB has rights over !!! and he’s far too exalted a blogger (rarely as the dear boy blogs since his book deal, mind you) for me to stand up to.

I really hope your chook is okay. Not good, not good at all to have a dog creating havoc with the lovely ladies.

And yes, I agree, the nicer the wine, the less squaffed.

Lawrence prefers white wine and rose. We’ve compromised and drink the rose together, but I find that more like alcoholic ribena and knock it back accordingly. Happily, it doesn’t lead to me feeling bleugh the next day. Which is just as well really.

I agree, BW, but they changed the pop up comment box, I don’t like the new one and you can’t subscribe to comments, which is one of the best bits, I think (I know it isn’t as far as you’re concerned as your blog doesn’t offer that option). There is another comment option, I’ll look at that.

By the way, the comment box appeared as normal this morning and is behaving itself.

I don’t either, LZM, not unexpected ones. I wouldn’t mind if they gave an option. And the Sage says the chicken seems to be quite all right, some missing feathers but that’s all. So lucky I was there and that the dog was more interested in playing than killing.

I’m the same, Roses, especially on a warm summer’s evening. I drink a big glass of water before I go near the wine, so that I’m not actually thirsty! Likewise, a square or two of dark chocolate is plenty, but put me before a bar of milk chocolate, especially if nuts are involved, and I’m a very sorry Z after I’ve scoffed the lot.

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The Unobservant Eye of Z

Dramatis personae:
My husband, Lovely Tim or LT for short (though he is actually tall).
My late husband, the Sage, aka Russell.
My children: Dearest daughter Weeza, who has London Ways, is married to Phil. Their daughter is Zerlina Buttercup and their son is Augustus Bufo. Elder son - Al X, is married to Dilly. Their children are Squiffany Virgilia, Maximus Pugsley and Hadrian Swallow. Younger son - Ro married Dora in September 2014 and their first baby, Rufus Russell, was born on 9th June last year.
Big Sister: Wink. She lives in Wiltshire, 230 miles away, but we're much closer than that.
We live with our cat Eloise, a black tortoiseshell half-Ragdoll.
Bantams live in the garden, recent additions being tiny Seramas called Crow, Jet and Yvette, along with three chicks, and cats live in the barns but we feed them and they have ambitions to be pets too. In addition, cows come to visit in the summer. Mostly, they stay in the fields. None of them has got a hoof in the door yet.
There is an annexe to the house, where Roses lives and her beloved, Lawrence, spends a lot of time there. Her son, Boy, lives there too.

Z’s blogroll

Updating takes too much memory, sorry - but then I'm not very young any more, so am hanging on to the memory I've got. Please don't look for any significance in the order - I'm not drunk but I am disorderly.

In case we are nostalgic

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Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.

Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?